


Tears Before Dawn

by Freerangeegghead



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alamo Style Standoff, Alternate Universe - Military, Angst, BadassLexa, Clexa Complete Fic, Commander Lexa, Drama, Explosions and shootouts, F/F, Ivy League Clarke, Lexa and Clarke in the Middle East, Lexa as a Noble Warrior Hero, Love in the time of war, Military Academy Grad Lexa, Movie AU, Soldiers, Special Forces Lexa, The awesomeness that is Clexa, US Armed Forces Lexa, War, Westpoint Grad Lexa, Women in the Military, clexa au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-18 05:55:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18243719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freerangeegghead/pseuds/Freerangeegghead
Summary: In which Lexa and Clarke meet during a 12-hour siege in the Middle East and they must fight to survive or die. [A/U. Complete. Bad ass Clexa action/adventure awesomeness.]





	1. Chapter 1

**_Rating:_**  Rated T ~ M for themes. 

 ** _Warnings/Spoilers_** : None. Femslash. Extremely A/U. OOC. No Smut. Character deaths. Skip if this is not your thing.

 _ **Genres:**_ General, a little bit of everything: Angst. Romance. Action. Adventure. 

 _ **Inspiration**_ / ** _s_**  The Alamo, 13 Hours in Benghazi, 12 Strong, Magnificent Seven, Tears of the Sun, Jarhead, Triple Frontier, American Assassin, Captain Marvel, Aliens,etc. 

 ** _Disclaimer_** : Nothing owned, nothing gained, prose all author’s. ** _Give credit where credit is due though. [Please don't download and upload again and pass it off as your own.]_**

 ** _Author’s note:_**  Thanks to kick_angel for beta-ing this. Happy reading!

* * *

 

 

Years later, Lexa Woodward and Clarke Griffin would disagree about who saw who first at the Ambassador's compound that fateful day, in the middle of a hot, lazy, dusty, sand-encrusted afternoon right smack in the middle of a Middle Eastern country on the verge of a civil war that's been a long time coming.

Clarke would insist she saw Lexa first, noticed her first, as the jeep pulls up, driven by a police academy drop out turned security officer for the diplomatic mission in Benghazi. He  had looked more like a college fratboy than a guard capable of protecting a dignitary's daughter, long, floppy hair falling on his forehead, smooth cheeks and  fresh-faced and eager to please. Collins, that was his name. Finn Collins. The diplomatic security personnel assigned to protect the ambassador. That he looked bashful and a bit starry-eyed hadn't improved Lexa's impression of him. She remembers thinking she could bring him down singlehandedly in single, hand-to-hand combat if given the chance. He had not looked like a threat or looked threatening at all.

"Collins, I presume?"Lexa had asked Bellamy Blake then, the other diplomatic security officer assigned to the ambassador. Tall, bearded, wild, wavy hair to his shoulders, Blake was of medium build,  but looked a bit more capable with his Glock 9mm tucked in his waistband, its handle peaking out out of his pants. She would think if a fight broke out, Blake would put up a fight at least.

Bellamy had nodded. "Looking like a giggly schoolgirl,"he had observed.

When a young, blonde woman emerges from the passenger side of the jeep, Lexa and the others understand.

Lexa vaguely remembers what Clarke wore that day: a pastel blouse, thin, silky, hugged her body when the wind blew, showing ample curves and the graceful shape of her full breasts, slacks, made of similar material, flowing and flapping as she made her way to them, a shawl that doubled as a scarf, sandals, large, stylish sunglasses on her face, pale skin exposed to harsh sun. She remembers Clarke standing out in the middle of the desert, surrounded by seasoned former soldiers and soldiers like herself, war-weary and cynical, in their fatigues,  boots, guns and Rayban aviator shades. Most if not all of them, had witnessed the horrors of war, each one either a member of Navy Seals, a Ranger, Special Forces. They were, as Thelonius Jaha had mentioned, the best of the best of the United States Armed Forces. And in that scene, Clarke stood out, Lexa remembers. She stood out like a rose in the desert. Or a lily in the valley. In the late afternoon sun shining on her skin, she looked radiant. Beautiful. Inexplicably so. She had walked towards them with that air of confidence and cockiness that only a lifetime of wealth and privilege could provide. She had the look of someone who had never known real hardship, or pain or terror or fear, because she always had her wealthy parents to shield her. She had the look of someone that was the entire opposite of the people she was about to meet.

Later she would find out that not only is Clarke an Ivy League educated liberal, and that her father is the ambassador, but that her mother, Abigail Griffin, is the Deputy Secretary of Education. More than that, she would later remember realizing that she understands where Clarke gets her toughness and spunk from.

The men Lexa would be working with in that compound had that look that she had: That of knowing only a life of hardship, of working for everything you ever wanted, of fighting for what you deserve. For Lexa, one of only a few women at Westpoint, fighting thrice as hard to be respected - as a woman, as a soldier, as an officer. Had she had other means to get a college degree she would have chosen that. But Westpoint offered an education and a job immediately after education - both something she had wanted. Little did she know then the price she would have to pay for that.

But that time, seeing Clarke for the first time, she feels conflicting emotions of resentment for Clarke: resentment for the wealth and privilege Clarke represented and Lexa despised, fascination for the exact same things she represented and curiosity, because in the midst of all of these, no one in their right mind would choose to come here, in this corner of the world that always seems to be on the brink of collapse. That in itself had made Lexa want to talk to her.

Lexa, Lincoln, Gustus, Miller, Roan and Bellamy had been doing a security sweep for the Ambassador's visit. The Ambassador, Jake Griffin, had an only daughter who had been working with a charity organization and she had wanted to see her father.  She hadn't gone home in years. Later, Lexa would find out why but at that time, she only ever watches the other woman.

Collins is in the middle of defending himself to them. Roan had picked up the woman and brought her to Annex. Collins had been there, dropped by on some errand or other from their boss, Jones, a Freddie Mercury look-alike (large, broad shoulders, muscled chest and  torso, buck teeth, moustache, prompting Lincoln to tell her he reminds him of a 70s porn star reject) and she'd found out he was coming back here. She'd convinced him to take her with him.

He'd been sheepishly explaining that he couldn't refuse when the woman comes up to them and introduces herself without much ado.

"Hi, Clarke Griffin,"the woman had said, smiling, offering a hand to Lincoln as she approaches. Her voice has that clear, enunciated diction characteristic of over-educated, privileged people, the kind who went to an Ivy League school and gives it away without even realizing it.

"Lincoln. Andrew. This is Blake. You've met Collins, this is Nathan  Miller, John Gustus, Matt Roan, Jim Quint and Lt. Col. Lexa Woodward. Miller, Gustus, Roan, Quint, Woods and I work over at Annex, on security. Woods is our liaison officer for the military. Blake and Collins will be your security detail. They're a different team, but we look out for our own here and we're happy to lend a hand if the need arises."

Miller nods, Quint scowls, Roan smirks, Gustus says nothing. Lexa is quiet, face expressionless, nods when Clarke looks at her. Clarke nods to each one in turn, jokingly muttering how safe Clarke feels.

Nobody says anything about that. Earlier everyone had argued with the head of security, Jones, about the diplomatic mission's security.

***

"This looks like a security nightmare,"Lincoln murmurs, scrunching up his nose as he looks around the place.

The house is a massive, two story building. Spacious. Roomy. Made of marble and wood. There's a gravelly, dusty driveway, the requisite fountain, a large lawn at the back for American diplomatic outdoor parties. Palm and date trees all around.

Lexa nods her head. "Open frontyard, backyard, crumbling fence. Artillery could bring down your wall with a few rounds. Not to mention rockets. Your walls are crumbling cement. Could send the house tumbling down in two seconds flat."

Bellamy had shaken his head. "Backyard's wide enough to see if there are any tangos coming. Front's secure. Walls high, barbed wire and broken glass should serve as deterrent to any tangos looking to come in. CCTVs all around..."

Lexa and Lincoln look unconvinced.

"Your CCTV won't mean shit when you get attacked by militants," Lexa points out.

"If we get attacked,"Bellamy says confidently. "Anyway, we've got a safe room. And windows and doors have grills so that should serve as a deterrent."

"The house could keep people out but it could also trap you," Lexa had observed. " If people surround you,you're toast."

"How much ammo you packing?"Lincoln asks.

Bellamy gestures to a room inside the big house. "Enough," he says, showing an array of guns- rifles, machine guns, hand guns, grenades, television screens showing CCTV footage.

"That's not enough,"Lexa says it for both of them. "How many people you got?"

Bellamy shrugs. "Jones. Nyko. Dickson. Collins. Me..."

Lincoln and Lexa wait.

Bellamy shrugs. "That's pretty much it."

Lincoln stares at him. "Blake, you can't be serious."

"I don't think we need more. But we've got some local muscle to help us out."

Lincoln and Lexa stare at him, incredulous. Finally, Lincoln had sighed and says, "Who the fuck wants to come here anyway? Everyone else is pulling out. And on 9/11 of all days. That's got to be the dumbest move ever."

"He insisted."

Lincoln snorts. "For what? Brownie points with POTUS? If something happens..."

"Then we make sure _nothing_ happens.Nothing."

***

She remembers Clarke shaking everyone's hand for the appropriate amount of time and then moving on to the next. The men are polite, reserved, all business-like.  All were offered a good-paying job working security for American government personnel. And then Clarke's eyes fall on Lexa and her gaze lingers on Lexa longer than usual, eyes curious and questioning. Lexa chooses to ignore that. Lexa also chooses to  ignore the way Clarke looks at her lips, or how Clarke's hand stays in Lexa's for far too long before Lexa reluctantly pulls her hand away. The afternoon sun catches the color in Clarke's hair. Makes her skin radiate. She remembers her cheekbones and that cleft chin and wonders briefly, idly, how it would feel to run a finger on that chin. But mostly she marvels at how blue Clarke's eyes are, ocean blue eyes, ocean eyes, the kind you would want to gaze at for hours on end, or drown in if you were so inclined.

"So, you're the ones here to protect me and my dad?" Clarke asks, smiling, amused.

Bellamy nods, launches into an explanation all business-like that neither Clarke nor Lexa seem to hear as Clarke holds her gaze, blue eyes dancing with mirth, Lexa feeling her face heat up.

"Right,"Lincoln says now, clearing his throat. "Okay. Blake, we're just a mile down the road. We can come here in under 10 flat. Gotta prepare for the dinner party tonight. Woods, Gustus and I ride with Ms. Griffin...Miller, Roan, you follow."

Roan and the others snap to attention and nod.

***

Lexa remembers the ride back to Annex as being uneventful, AC/DC's "Back in Black" blaring loudly from the stereo, because it's always AC/DC and it's always "Back in Black". Lincoln and Gustus sit in front, occasionally muttering to each other, Lincoln focused on the road. Lexa and Clarke sit silently at the back, Lexa flexing her fists. The air is still thick, hot,but the sun is almost setting, kissing the horizon, and the soft rays of the sun are gently kissing Clarke's skin.

Lincoln had apologized for the music and Clarke had grinned, saying, " _'Without music, life would be a mistake_ '."

Lexa had smiled. "Nietzche."

Clarke had looked at her, surprised she speaks up.

Lexa had quirked an eyebrow, giving her a small, lop-sided smile. "Not all of us are savages, Ms. Griffin. Some of us actually _read_."

Clarke had blushed at that. Later, she would say it is because she had criticized the soldiers who'd mistreated Iraqi prisoners of war as savages in a searing op-ed. For a moment, Clarke is at a loss for words before she says, "Please, call me Clarke. And I don't think you're all..." Here, she'd paused, half-grimacing, "Savages."

"You don't like us much, do you, Ms. Griffin?" Lexa asks boldly, smiling.

"Well, I don't like my tax dollars funding imaginary, pointless wars in the name of oil and freedom,"Clarke replies.

"Well those same tax dollars make sure people like me and Lincoln get paid to make sure your right to free speech is protected,"Lexa says evenly.

Lincoln clears his throat. "Anyway, gotta admit, some of us _can be_  savages Ms. Griffin," Lincoln had quipped.

Clarke smiles at him. Lexa takes note that she hadn't asked Lincoln to call her Clarke, too.

"Yes. And I'm sure the rest are noble warriors protecting our imperialist right to exploit poorer countries,"Clarke says.

Lincoln laughs. "Harsh."

"Heroes,"Lexa says.

"What?" Clarke asks.

"You said noble warriors. We're noble warrior _heroes_ ," Lexa says, with a smile.

"Damn straight, Heda!" Lincoln says.

"Eh, that's a bit much, don't you think?" Clarke asks with a smile. "I wouldn't go that far."

Lexa smiles back.

They fall silent again, content in letting AC/DC play in the background, before Clarke speaks up. "Heda?"

Lexa waits for a lull in the music so she can answer. "Old nickname from when I was in Westpoint. Kind  of stuck."

"What does it mean?"

Lexa smiles. "Noble warrior _hero_."

Clarke laughs again. " _Touche_." She pauses before saying, "So, does everyone call you Heda?"

Lexa shakes her head.

"What do they call you?"

"Woods."

"What does your mom call you?"

"Woods."

"What do you call your mom?"

"Woods."

"What do your partner and kids call you?"

Lexa gives her a smile as if she's catching on. " _If_ and _when_ I have kids, they will call me, Woods," pointedly not answering the subtle question about having a partner.

"Can I call you Woods?"

Lexa says, smiling, "You can call me whatever you like, Clarke."

Clarke looks at Lexa again, blue eyes piercing, searching. She touches Lexa's thigh, hand soft and warm. Lexa briefly looks at her hand. Clarke asks, "So...am I going to see you later?"

Lexa freezes for a second, unsure what to do, feeling the warmth of Clarke's hand on her thigh. She isn't sure at first if she heard Clarke right with the music blaring as it is but Clarke's voice is clear, warm, friendly.  Lexa  looks  up at Clarke , surprised, wonders why this woman would strike up a conversation with her. She'd realized then that Clarke isn't particularly the most beautiful woman she's ever seen, but there is something about her that makes Lexa want to protect her. A kindness in her that Lexa can respond to. She considers her question. Then she nods.

Clarke smiles. "Good. I don't think I can handle this much testosterone."

"Hey,"Lincoln shouts upfront, mock offended. "Offended by that."

"I'm sorry."

"Anyway, how sure are you Commander isn't a man?"Lincoln asks playful. "Hey, chief, ever mistaken for a man?"

"No, have you?" Lexa shoots back.

Clarke laughs. Her hand lingers on Lexa's thigh for a few more moments before Clarke casually removes her hand and places it on her lap.

Lexa remembers wanting Clarke's hand to stay on her thigh. She also remembers finding that laugh nice.

Lexa realizes she remembers a lot of things about Clarke.

***

Clarke claims Lexa mostly ignores her that first time they meet each other but Lexa insists she does not.

Lexa understands though.

It hadn't been a good day for her that first day.

It had been a long, exhausting flight, followed by a cold welcome from the head of Annex Division.

Hours before she meets Clarke, Lexa meets Thelonius Jaha, the head of the division, who tells her, coldly, "I personally think we don't need another soldier here guarding the facility. We already have a formidable security team made of ex-military officers. GRS sends us only the best.  Best of the best. Cream of the crop. And since they're contractors we don't have to worry about Pentagon meddling. An active military officer - even if she's a well-decorated Westpoint educated one - well, I just think it fucking attracts more attention. See that outside?" He gestures to an empty yard. Lexa dutifully looks. "Peaceful. No militants trying to bomb us at the first hint of a show of American force. I'd like to keep it that way. But Kane seems to think it will help. So I'm going to humor him." He then leans forward, a hard look taking over his eyes. Scruffy, bearded demeanor serious, almost threatening. "But make no mistake - you are a guest here, Woodward. You may be security liaison with the military on paper but here? You are just an observer. no more. I don't care what kind of fucking political clout you have at the Pentagon or Capitol Hill. I don't give a rat's ass if you're connected to the White House.You don't call the shots here. You do not belong here. So, you do not engage. You just sit back, and do nothing. Absolutely nothing."

Lexa had betrayed no emotion, swallowing down the anger and resisting the urge to curl her fist and punch Jaha. She manages to answer, stiffly,  "Yes, sir," and Jaha dismisses her unceremoniously with a cold, "I think we're done here."

Jaha's opinion of her doesn't change over the course of her stay there. To this day he still blames her for what went down. She doesn't blame him. Later on, she would think about it, wish she could have done more. Later Lincoln would tell her she couldn't have done anything more. That she did everything she could, they all did. But Lexa would be haunted by it, by the events that would happen there and long after the seemingly endless questions finally stop coming and the reporters stop asking and she no longer sees images of herself, of them on screen and on paper, long after all the noise of the events fade, time and time again she wonders what she could have done, if she could have done more for all of them.

***

Lexa wasn't even sure if she'd wanted to accept the assignment. She'd served in Iraq and Afghanistan right after graduation at the academy, as a  newly minted officer and she'd been looking for something new, something different. But she had a particular skill set that they wanted: a facility with languages, specifically Arabic, her knowledge of Middle Eastern culture and politics, tactical knowledge, expertise on artillery, self-defense tactics, intelligence gathering and her ability to lead a team. She had been surprised at the dossier they had on her. Flattered even. She hadn't known at the time but the assignment had been a test, too and looking back, that angers her whenever she thinks about it.

And to have Thelonius Jaha shut her down minutes after arriving at the Annex makes her doubt her decision to come. Makes her doubt her abilities.

In hindsight, she thinks that the one good thing that comes out of it was that she'd chosen to go, that she'd been there when it all went to hell. Small comfort.

***

It had been Lincoln, a soldier who'd served in one of her teams, that had made her feel better shortly after that meeting with Jaha.

Lincoln had gotten out. He hadn't come from the academy. He'd done the training, served in missions and got out. Tall, muscular, head shaved,olive-skinned, in a muscle shirt, faded and well-worn army shorts and boots, he had grinned at her, telling her, "Great to see you again, Woods."

Lexa's mouth had quirked in a lop-sided small smile. Her anger, uncertainty dissipates as Lincoln shows her around.

Showing Lexa around had consisted of a brief tour of the compound: a drab, main block-shaped building in the form of the letter "U", the bottom of the "U" facing the main gate, the two stems serving as wings that stretch to  the back, a smaller block of building inside the "U" and a separate building over the tips of the "U"-building that faces the back gate. The "U"-shaped building and the building facing the back gate are two-story buildings with a rooftop, ladders on the side for climbing up. The rooftop, Lincoln says, provides a great vantage point  for surveillance and, Lincoln grins, "Parties while watching killer sunsets over the horizon."

The blocks of drab buildings sit in the middle of a high, thick, concrete fence topped with barbed wire. As they walk, swirls of dust rise up from their combat boots. Lincoln pushes his aviator glasses up.

"It's fucking hot as hell, fucking sandstorms every chance we get, but buildings are air-conditioned, rooms are shared,  wi-fi is for shit but food is fucking awesome,"Lincoln had said as they head to the security headquarters. "Counting the days 'til I get home to my wife so I've got that going for me. " There is a twinkle in his eye as he says it.

"How _is_ Octavia?" Lexa had asked.

"Pregnant and cranky and asking me every time we Skype when I'm coming home,"Lincoln responds. "Just showed me a sonogram of the baby...and..." Here he grins. "It's a boy. I've seen the feller's little feller." Lexa makes a slight disgusted face and Lincoln laughs. "How about you?"

Before Lexa can answer, Lincoln's face grows serious. "Woods, it's been years."

Lexa shakes her head. "Let's not do this, shall we?"

Lincoln had just looked at her, considers her for a moment but then he puts his hands up in surrender and says, "You missed your parents' wedding anniversary."

"I couldn't get a leave."

Lincoln snorts. "Lt. Col. Lexa Woodward couldn't get a leave? What, the colonel keeping you on a tight leash?"

Lexa just looks at him then and Lincoln mutters an apology. "Just...call your mom and your sister, okay?"

"How was it?"

"It was beautiful," Lincoln says simply. "Your mom's _fierce_ like I can't even. Like,she's _lit_."

Lincoln pushes the door open, reminds her to call her family again,  and as soon as the door opens, a gush of cold air greets them and a few pairs of eyes  stare at both of them. All of them have laptops open and by the looks of it, chatting to people back home on the shitty wifi Lincoln had just been complaining about. Except for the hum of the air conditioning and the whir of fans, the room falls silent when they see Lexa. They had all been taking advantage of the brief respite of free time and the time difference back home, calling on loved ones before work calls them back.

Lexa's uncertainty turns into brief nervousness but then everyone turns back to whatever they had been doing and she relaxes.

"Lincoln, what's up?"A muscular olive-skinned man in a shirt, army fatigues and boots sitting on a couch, laptop on his lap, Skype open to reveal a woman and a child smiling at her, greets him. "Lincoln, babe, and...Westpoint. Gotta go, call you later, babe."

"Hey, Mandy, hey, junior," Lincoln greets the woman and the child on the screen. The woman waves before the  man says goodbye again ends the Skype call.

Everyone had stood at attention, betraying a military discipline that they could not seem to shake off long after they'd left the military.

"Gentlemen, this is Lt. Col. Alexa Woodward, Woods, this is everybody. Served on a mission or two together. One of the best commanders I've ever had the pleasure of serving."

"That's Miller, ex-army,"Lincoln gestures to the man who had been Skyping.

"Pleasure to meet you,"another man says, a tall, hulking man with a beard, offering his large hand.

"John Gustus, ex-Navy Seal," Lincoln introduces him as Lexa shakes his hand and nods. Lexa had noted that he'd been talking to someone on his laptop, too. A grandson, she later finds out. She hadn't taken a good look at the child but Gustus would later tell her she looked a bit like the sister he lost, the child's mother. Of all the things Lexa remembers about Gustus, it startles her that it's that one detail she remembers. "Ben Quint, ex-Marine,"Lincoln continues as another tall, gruff, muscular man with a shaved head shakes her hand. Quint is younger than Gustus, unmarried as far as she knew. Quint had been talking to a younger man, she'd later find out, a younger brother he was sending to college. She hadn't known the name of the boy. Later, she would spend hours just trying to find out what his name was.  "Matt Roan,"Lincoln continues as a bearded man with shoulder-length dark hair tied in a ponytail and a seemingly permanent smirk nods and shakes her hand. This one seemed sheepish. He hadn't been talking to a girlfriend or a wife, but to his mother, and she'd actually caught the tail end of the conversation, and the look of exasperation on Roan's face as he talks to his mother. The mother doesn't look like him, she would later think, blond and tall with icy blue eyes, but she later finds they are more alike than anything.

A new man comes in, smaller and darker than the others, hair curly and short, beard long and trimmed. He bows to all of them as Lincoln beckons to him and introduces him to Lexa.

"Muhammad Amir," Lincoln says. "He's our go-to guy, the guy who hooks us up with locals, does our translations for us, the works." He looks at the man. "Where's your daughter, Madi?"

"Majidah,"Muhammad corrects him.

"Madi,"Lincoln had insisted. Later he would explain that they had misunderstood Muhammad when he had first introduced the child to them. They'd called her Madi because it was easier. Muhammad would bring the child to the compound every once in a while and the staff and security had taken a liking to the child, a breath of fresh air in the otherwise barren surroundings.

Before Muhammad can answer, the child appears, a child of nine, eyes wide and curious, looking precocious at such a young age, looking at the new arrival with a curiosity bordering on hostility.

Lexa remembers Muhammad and Madi. At the time, she would not know how bringing Muhammad would change Madi's life, could not understand why they had to bring a non-soldier with them in the first place anyway. She could speak Arabic anyway. Another unanswered question for her.

"Alright," Lincoln had said, then, "Roan, you gotta pick up Ambo's daughter. She's flying in from Tripoli. She arrives at 13h00."

Roan groans. "Fuck. So we've got chauffeur as part of our job description now? Aside from babysitting civilians?"Roan asks, voice deep and gruff. "Fucking company don't pay me enough for this shit."

Lincoln ignores that, continues like he doesn't hear Roan. "Ambo's daughter stays here while we wait for the Ambo. We do a security sweep of the place again today." He turns to Lexa and explains, "We'd already done one a couple days back, we just want to have one final security sweep, have a fresh pair of eyes look at it."

Lexa nods.

"Updates on security?" Lincoln asks everyone.

People shake their heads.

"Spotted some locals taking photos of Annex, but could be nothing," Roan says with a shrug.

Lincoln turns to Roan. "Roan, bring Ambo's daughter here and join us after.  Ambo arrives later at 15h00. Miller and Quint pick him up, Roan drive Ambo's daughter back here.  Early dinner at 17h30 at the Ambo's residence, we escort him for the press conference tomorrow, photo op and courtesy call at 09h00."

***

Everything goes as planned. Almost.

Everyone had dressed for the occasion, or dressed appropriately anyway, dinner jackets or blazers hastily thrown on open-necked polo shirts or ties thrown on dress shirts and hastily pressed pants and newly polished shoes, including Lexa who decides that wearing her dress uniform would draw attention so she dresses in an appropriate blouse and slacks, the kind that could accommodate a handgun at the back, knives at her ankles and could conceal a shoulder holster beneath her jacket.

It's the first thing Clarke would comment on when she first sees her that night.

"No dress uniform?" Clarke had asked, eyes twinkling with amusement. "You disappoint me."

Lexa had blushed at that, looking at Clarke's conservative dress, making Clarke blush in turn.

The dinner is an informal, quiet affair, presided over by the Ambassador, jetlagged and tired but valiantly hosting an event for the American civilian employees stationed at Annex, headed by Jaha with Lexa, Lincoln, Roan, Miller, Gustus and Quint in attendance as well as Jones, Bellamy and Collins. People talk about mundane things, avoiding politics, avoiding talking about 9/11, or the US government's foreign policies, topics deliberately neutral and light. Roan and Lincoln bicker about chess and poker, Miller complains about the wifi, Gustus is silent, Bellamy talks about what they will do tomorrow. Lexa had sat stiffly across from Clarke, silent and observant as blue eyes gazed at her, always curious and questioning.

As the people break off in groups after dinner for a quick chat, smoke, have a glass of wine or two, on low slung wooden chairs  with white cushions and a matching couch, Lexa excuses herself and takes the time to walk around the house, finding herself calculating distances, looking at possible entrance and exit points, defensive and offensive positions. The house is exactly the kind of building that would house an ambassador.  The house has beautiful marble floors and dark wood paneling on the walls. There is an inexplicably immaculate lawn at the back. The furnishings are old-fashioned, too ornate and ostentatious for a soldier like her used to living in trenches and caves and tents when out on a mission. Since her time at Westpoint, she'd had at least ten different addresses. Thanks to Don't Ask Don't Tell, she won't be able to marry anytime soon. And her lifestyle isn't exactly conducive to having a family.

She goes up the staircase. There are four rooms on the upper floor, a master bedroom, two guest rooms and a washroom, door open. She had found herself  on the balcony, looking out at the yard, night lights of surrounding houses illuminating the night. The balcony is shielded by palm trees, hidden from outside. The night is still as like a drawn, taut rubber. As of something holding its breath, ready to explode. The night is hot, humid, sweaty, the sky full of stars.

It's where Clarke would find her that night. It's where Clarke would kiss her for the first time, an occurrence that would take both of them by surprise.

***

Clarke would later say she didn't know what possessed her to kiss Lexa then. Maybe it was the combination of wine and heat and being in a foreign country that made her reckless. Maybe she was just being in the moment. Either way she had kissed Lexa and that changed everything.

***

She had come to apologize for her earlier remark about Lexa's dress uniform and had actually started apologizing with an "I'm sorry."

Lexa had looked at her then and asks,"For what?"

"Earlier, when I said...about your uniform.And all that other stuff."

"It's fine,"Lexa had said dismissively, looking out again, pointedly ending the conversation. "Not the first time Ivy League liberals have voiced their strong opinions about this war."

But Clarke doesn't leave, instead she steps forward, asks questions.

"What are you doing?" She'd asked.

"Threat assessment," Lexa responds, business-like. "Checking out security here."She'd looked at Clarke then. "Make sure you're safe."

Clarke hadn't known why that had made her shiver. It was probably how Lexa said it, voice suddenly soft, or the way she looked at Clarke, green eyes steady, holding her gaze, or just the way she was but it makes Clarke want to kiss her.

"Is that your job?"

Lexa had nodded. "Part of it, yes."

"You graduated from Westpoint?"

Lexa had nodded again. She smiles. "Not everyone can afford to go to an Ivy League school on their own merits."

Clarke grins. "That's ridiculous. I got into an Ivy League school on my family's merits," she deadpans. "My family donated a building and it's hideous and they call it the Griffin building. Also my grandfather used to be the President of the University."

"Ah," is all Lexa says.

"What's it like?"

Lexa doesn't know why she answers that question.Usually she is irritated by civilians wanting to know about military life but Clarke's smile and the genuine curiosity disarms her and she tells her, Clarke attentive, blue eyes looking at her.

So she tells her, remembering  images of her time there, the endless obstacle courses, through mud and snow and rain, the endless push-ups and pull-ups and running, the endless classes, the endless male cadets mercilessly teasing her and the other female cadets for daring to come to Westpoint, the pride in her family's faces when she finally graduates, tall and proud and strong.

Before either one knows it, time has passed and Lexa hears Lincoln call her from the first floor, tells her they're leaving. She answers back, tells him she's coming.

Clarke kisses her then, on the lips, a soft,brief one, taste of wine on Lexa's lips. It surprises both of them. Clarke doesn't apologize for that.

"You should stay," Clarke murmurs.

"I'm probably breaking so many federal statutes just being with you even as we speak."

Clarke laughs softly. "Like what?"

Lexa is unable to answer.

Clarke laughs again. "Will I see you again?"

Lexa smiles, a small smile that quirks one part of her lips and she says, "Do you want to see me again?"

Clarke smiles back. They share a look and as if on cue, almost an instinct, an invisible force drawing them together, they kiss again, this one longer, tender and sweet before Clarke gently pulls away, hands pushing Lexa's chest back

"You'd better go then,"Clarke had murmured then. "Federal statutes and everything."

Lexa nods.

Clarke smiles. "Come find me tomorrow?"

"Yes."

***

To this day, Lexa wonders how things would have changed had she stayed the night.

Because that same night, under cover of darkness, after they had left the compound, they attack the Ambassador's compound without warning.

Rated


	2. Chapter 2

They were supposed to have had a quiet evening.

Lincoln had a Skype date with his wife and unborn child because they always have a Skype date. Gustus is reading a book, Quint is outside, smoking a cigar while listening to music, Roan drinks smuggled whiskey while playing chess with Miller. Lexa, tired and still jet lagged had counted on catching up on sleep in her quarters after checking back with her superior, Col. Indra Smith, light reading of intelligence reports, filling out her own reports.

The first explosion had jolted them all awake. 

*** 

Everyone had come out of the buildings to see what the explosion was about.

Everyone had already changed out of their dinner clothes, Lincoln in army shorts and a white shirt, Roan, Quint, Gustus, Miller in pants or shorts and loose, sleeveless shirts. Lexa had been wearing an old Westpoint shirt and combat fatigues that make Lincoln roll his eyes.

"Where's it coming from?" Roan had asked.

Miller hands Lincoln binoculars. 

In a few seconds, a burst of gunfire explode in the distance, orange explosions lighting up the darkness.

"It's..." Lincoln pauses, "The Ambassador's Compound. It's under attack."

Lexa's pulse is racing and she can feel the breath pushed out of her. She checks her digital watch. 20h00.

The first thought that immediately comes to Lexa's mind is Clarke.

***

In the seconds after they realize the Ambassador's Compound is under attack, and it is confirmed by satellite and intelligence reports,  the team springs to action, going back to their quarters to change and arm themselves. Lexa hastily radios her commanding officer, Col. Indra Smith on a secure line. She takes a deep breath. Calms herself. Focus. Purpose. That's what she needs.

"Status?" Indra says without preamble.

"Possible security breach at Ambo's compound, request permission to go in and assist,"Lexa says. 

There's silence on the other side before Indra comes in and says, "You know you're only there as a guest and observer, Woods, our orders are to not engage with the enemy."

"They engaged first,"Lexa says. "Shots fired. Possible militants. Ambassador, his daughter,five diplomatic security personnel are over there."

"Woods, I'm sorry, my hands are tied, I can't order you to go in,"Indra says.

"Colonel, if something happens there...I'm not asking for permission, I'm going to go in,"Lexa says. "You can tell them you had no knowledge of my activities. You could have plausible deniability."

"Woods..."

"Colonel, innocent people will die if we don't do anything..."

There is silence on the other side before Indra says, "Do not go rogue on me, soldier..."

"Colonel, if I get those civilians out alive, I will personally hand in my resignation. I have to go..."

"Woods, wait..."

"Colonel?"

"What do you need?"

"Air support? Additional soldiers,"Lexa says.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Colonel."

"And Woods..."

"Sir?"

"If you do this...you're on your own. I'll do what I can on my end but..."

"Understood, Colonel. Over and out."

Lexa ends the call.

***

They emerge from their quarters combat ready, in fatigues and bullet-proof vests and armed with machine guns and handguns. Quint and Miller wordlessly turn to an old battered jeep and an even older sedan and start firing them up, engine idling, waiting for orders. 

As they check their weapons, Jaha emerges, having been notified of the attack. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Jaha asks the team coldly, arms akimbo.

It is Lexa who answers. "Ambo's Compound is under attack. We're going in."

"Need I remind you, Woodward, that you don't have jurisdiction, authority or clearance to do so,"Jaha says.

"We're not going to engage, we're just going in, simple rescue mission, in and out,back before you know it,"Lincoln says, securing his vest in place. "Defend American freedom and all that."

"In your shorts?" A new voice chimes in.

Everyone turns to see Monty Green, one of the comm technicians. He turns to Jaha. "Sir, comms are down. We're trying to bring them back up. But got a message from Blake before it went down. Says Ambassador's Compound has been attacked. They don't know who's behind it. He's guessing it's militants.The locals have abandoned their posts, there's a breach in security, they're trapped inside and they're requesting for back-up."

_ Shit _ , Lexa thinks. Clarke. She needs to get to Clarke.

"Sir, you've got to let us go,"Lincoln pleads.

Another explosion punctuates his request. Jaha doesn't flinch.

"No. You are not authorized first responders,"Jaha says. "Green, contact Tripoli. See if we could get back up from there. In the meantime, you stay put. You stay here. You don't go anywhere without my say-so."

Lexa speaks up. "Sir, with all due respect, by the time we get comms back up and running, we'll be too late."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, I don't think you understand. You are not in charge here. And you are not authorized to mount a rescue mission."

Lincoln steps forward. "Sir, if you don't let us go, it will no longer  _ be _ a rescue mission. It's going to be search and retrieval."

Bursts of gunfire pierce the night again. Roan snatches the binoculars from Lincoln and climbs up the side of the building and on to the rooftop. In a few seconds they hear another round of explosions and then sky lights up like fire.

Roan jumps down then and says, with surprising concern, "They're burning the house. With the people still inside. They're going to die there if we don't do anything soon."

Pillars of black smoke rise to the sky.

"If you let them take the compound, where do you think will they go next?" Lexa asks coldly, anger lacing her tone.

***

It had been a quiet night for Jake Griffin and his daughter. Bellamy, Collins, Jones, Nyko and Dickson had all retreated to their posts.

Collins and Bellamy were to stay at the house, guard the Ambo and his daughter. Griffin was going to sleep his jetlag off before the presscon and courtesy call, his daughter quietly retreating to her assigned room on the second floor.

Bellamy had been teasing Collins about Griffin's daughter ignoring him all night and Bellamy had chuckled, saying, "Maybe it's not you, maybe it's her," stopping himself from saying she didn't seem interested at all. That he thinks maybe she's interested in somebody else, perhaps one of those soldiers over at Annex - that Lieutenant, Woodward, looks fierce -  when they hear the first explosions.

Bellamy stops, mid-chuckle, grabs his machine gun,slings it on his shoulder and stands up. 

"What was that?" Collins asks, Glock at the ready. 

Another explosion rocks the house. They hear a loud thud by the front door and both nervously bring up their guns, waiting for the door to open. 

Nyko stumbles inside, side of his face bloody, part of his shirt and pants bloody, hand clutching the machine gun slung on his shoulder. As he staggers inside, on his knees, Bellamy and Collins rush towards him. Bellamy helps him to the living room couch, Collins frozen. Bellamy orders Collin to close the door.

"Collins! Lock the fucking door!" Bellamy shouts now.

That pushes Collin to action.

"Check the doors out back, too,"Bellamy orders. "And the windows."

He turns to Nyko then. "What happened? Where's Jones and the others?"

Nyko gasps. "Dead. Sniper, I think. They got Jones. And Dickson. Miracle I got out alive." 

"What about the locals?"

"Abandoned their posts. Got scared. Militants coming in. We never should've gotten them in the first place. They freaked out."

As he coughs and groans and slumps down on the couch, blood seeping into the fabric, Jake Griffin comes out, still in his dinner clothes, white shirt and dress pants rumpled, barefoot and bleary-eyed as he puts his glasses on. "What's going on?"

Clarke comes out on the landing to ask the same thing. She hadn't changed clothes either, still wearing the same clothes from dinner. "What's happening?"

In that instant, a round of artillery fire, followed by gunshots pierce the still night air and everyone freezes. Bellamy realizes then that their boss is dead, that Dickson is gone and that Nyko is out. It would have to be up to him and the new guy, Collins. He snaps to attention, seeing the fear in their eyes. Collins comes back, huffing.

"Safe room, now, all of you,"Bellamy orders everyone, "Collins get Nyko. Sir, Ms. Griffin, you're with me. Stay close, stay away from the windows, stay close to the floor." 

Jake and Clarke Griffin quickly and wordlessly follow Bellamy, as Bellamy fumbles with his radio, shouting into his comm, "Bellamy here, anybody out there? Ambo's compound compromised. Possible militants suspected. Dickson spotted men taking snapshots of compound earlier tonight. Request backup. Jones and Dickson dead. Nyko seriously wounded. Request for Evac now. Over."

A new burst of gunfire explodes through the house, punching holes in walls, the couch,tables, chairs, shattering the windows into a million fragments. They all quickly crouch low and slowly make their way to the safe room.

Meanwhile, they hear no answer from Bellamy's comms.

Where the fuck are Lexa and the GRS guys from Annex?

***

Bellamy, Collins, Jake and Clarke crouch inside the safe room, Bellamy and Collins by the door, machine guns at the ready. Nyko is slumped unconscious on the floor. Behind them is the ambassador and at the back is Clarke, both on the floor, confused and afraid. Clarke though is trying to stop Nyko from bleeding out, her hands all bloody and shaking.

"Are they gone?" Clarke asks.

Bellamy doesn't speak, puts up a hand for silence, opens the door a crack to look outside. The house had been plunged in darkness, but there are a few lights outside. He opens the door wider, crawls to the nearest window and peaks outside. 

"How many?"Collins asks.

Bellamy squints in the darkness. "Thirty? Fifty? Hard to tell. Get back to Ambo and his daughter. We've got to protect them. Grills and the safe room should protect us." Suddenly silence descends on them.

"They've stopped,"Collins observes. "Have they retreated?"

Bellamy shakes his head. "Highly doubt that. Looks like they're regrouping. They..."

His voice is cut off by shouts, and Bellamy sees it a second before it hits them. "Bazooka!"

They both move and dive back into the safe room as the house is hit. The ground shakes. Lamps and chandeliers shake and fall. Windows shatter, fragments exploding, both Bellamy and Collins getting hit on the face. 

They close the door.

They hear thumps, thuds, machine gunfire, gunshots, explosions. The air starts to smell like gunpowder and blood and sweat, the air thick with tension and fear and uncertainty.

Dammit, Bellamy curses. He punches on his comm again, calling on Lincoln, Lexa and the rest of the Annex security team. There is no response. All he hears is static.

He opens the door a crack again, and sees smoke outside, smell of burning tires in his nose.

"They're going to come, right?"Clarke asks now, anxious. "Lexa and the others...?"

"Let's hope so," Bellamy says.

"I am not dying here,"Clarke states.

Bellamy looks back, sees the fire in Clarke's eyes. "No, we're not." He grabs the Glock 9mm from his holster and offers it to Clarke. "You know how to use one of these?"

Clarke nods, crawling towards him to get the gun. "Yes, I think I do."

Bellamy turns to Jake Griffin then to Collins. "Finn, give the man your gun." As Collins scrambles to give the man his gun, Bellamy says grimly, "We need all the help we can get." 

They don't know how long they huddle in the safe room, not knowing if the next explosion is going to be their last, each shudder and gunfire and quake rocking them to the core and increasing their anxiety and fear. It feels like forever. In reality it couldn't have been more than thirty minutes to an hour. They'd lost track of time then. 

The last explosion is what does it. They smell fire and see thick, dark smoke crawling up the bottom of the door, filling the safe room, making their eyes tear up and their lungs burn and throats hurt and Bellamy realizes they might actually probably die.

***

They all hear Bellamy's voice on the comm network after Green and the other technicians fix it.

Lexa looks at Jaha then. "I don't think you understand, sir, if we don't help, innocent people will  _ die _ ."

Jaha stands his ground. "You know as well as I do no one is innocent in this war. Griffin knew what he was getting into when he came here. He was briefed on the situation. Advised to skip this country. He insisted. He only has himself to blame. Ditto for his daughter."

"Sir, we can't just leave them there!" Lincoln says. "Those are fucking civilians!"

Roan steps up. "Much as I hate to say it, I agree with Lincoln."

"Griffin made his choice,"Jaha says. "Anyway, to win the war, we need to lose a few battles. Griffin and the others? Collateral damage. I need you all here to defend this compound and the civilians inside."

"How do you think the American public will feel when pictures of our All-American ambassador and his daughter are shown all over the news, bodies burned to a crisp because we stood back and let them  _ die _ ?"

"Are you threatening me?" Jaha asks.

"I'm not threatening you sir,"Lexa says calmly. "I'm warning you of the consequences."

Jaha looks angry now.

"Sir, I know you've spent your whole life pushing paper around but I thought in your heart you believed in what we're fighting for,"Lexa says now.

"You better watch what you're going to say next, Woodward,"Jaha says.

Lexa makes the decision then. "I'm sorry sir, but I'm going. Orders or no orders."

"Lieutenant!" Jaha says firmly. "You go out that gate you can kiss your career goodbye."

Lexa fixes him with her steely gaze. "I stay here and I might as well have killed them myself."

She turns her back then but hears Jaha speak. "Lieutenant, I'm warning you..."

She looks back and sees Jaha aiming a gun at her. 

"As the head of this division, I order you to stand down, Woodward. Stand down or I shoot."

Lincoln steps a bit closer. "Sir, are we really doing this?" He asks carefully. "You don't need to do this."

Jaha advances on Lexa, gun still trained on her. Gustus slowly reaches for his gun, as does Roan. Quint leans back on the jeep and watches. Miller stands beside him, confused and unsure.

No one speaks. Lexa stares Jaha down. Jaha doesn't move.

"Put the gun down, sir," Lincoln says slowly, deliberately.

Jaha doesn't respond, gun still aimed at Lexa.

"He's made his choice," Lexa says then, as if she's made a choice herself. "This is mine."

In the time it takes for Jaha to respond, quick as lightning Lexa grabs Jaha's gun and aims it at him. Jaha puts his hands up. He smirks.

"You do this, Woodward, and I will  _ end _ you," Jaha warns.

Lexa doesn't say anything at first. "You don't understand, sir, you're in my world now.  You are way in over your head on this one. You don't call the shots here. I do. So, you can either help or get the fuck out of my way."

Jaha stares at Lexa and the sheer audacity of her order. Finally, he steps aside and back and Lexa turns and heads to one of the jeeps.

"You're making a big mistake,"Jaha warns her. 

Lexa doesn't speak. 

"You're not seriously considering leaving us defenseless, are you?" Jaha demands now.

"I'm not considering,"Lexa says. "I'm doing it."

"Is seven lives worth risking yours and the lives of the fifty people here? Woodward, there are more people here who could die if you leave us defenseless."

"If those people in that compound die, their blood will be on your hands," Lexa says.

"If we die, then  _ our _ blood will be on  _ yours _ ," Jaha shoots back.

"Then we'll just have to make sure you don't," Lexa says.

"And if you die?" Jaha asks.

"Then we die trying to defend your constitutional right to be an asshole," Lexa says.

Roan looks at Gustus, then Lincoln. "Did she just...?" 

"Yep," Lincoln replies.

"...Call the CIA Annex Division head an asshole?"Roan asks.

"Yep."

"She's got balls."

Lincoln smirks. "Bigger than yours."

"Is that how she got into Westpoint?"

Lincoln rolls his eyes.

"I am now both strangely aroused and terrified."

"You're an asshole,"Lincoln tells him.

"I'm probably going to die, might as well have my fun,"Roan says.

Lexa calls Lincoln. Lincoln jogs to Lexa.

"What are we doing, Chief?" Lincoln asks.

"Rescuing those people."

"We could lose our jobs."

Lexa looks at him then. "Well, you can't put a price on being able to live with yourself."

"Fair point." When Lexa turns to call the others, Lincoln says, "Chief...we're gonna get them. They're going to be okay."

Lexa swallows and nods.

The others, Quint, Gustus, Miller and Roan come up.

Lexa is all business as she says, "Listen up, you don't need to do this, all of you. I'm not asking you to go with me. You can stay here and guard the compound. That's your call. I'll understand if you want to stay."

Roan snorts. "What, and have you have all the fun and take all the fucking credit? No way."

"They won't know what hit 'em,"Lincoln says.

Lexa looks at Roan, two seconds from punching him, but there's a different look in his eyes. Respect. Awe. Wonder. There is new understanding in their eyes about Lexa and right then and there, in that moment, they would willingly follow Lexa to hell and back.

Lexa looks to Jaha then. "We'll be right back."

"Fuck,"Roan says. "We're so going to die, aren't we?"

Lincoln smiles. "Look on the bright side, maybe they'll name a school after you or something."

Lexa turns to them. "Hero. You'll die a hero."

"Aw, fuck that,"Roan says.

"Then you can get scars and show them off to chicks,"Lexa says, face mock serious. "Chicks dig scars."

Roan grins. "Now, you're talking."

***

It would take them what feels like ages to get to the compound. In reality, between the arguments with Jaha and the journey to the compound, it takes a little under an hour. They arrive at 21h00 at the compound. Lexa had wondered later, had Jaha let them go earlier if the thirty minutes or the one hour lost would have made a difference or not. If they could have saved more lives.

It is only a mile away but it feels longer. Doors are locked, windows closed and curtains drawn, streets deserted but for locals, men, walking around. Streets are blocked so they had to try to negotiate their way through narrow, crooked, dusty, one-way streets. They try alternate routes, Lexa trying to push down the worry and anxiety, focusing on the goal: get to the Ambassador's compound. Get to Clarke.

With Lexa, Lincoln and Gustus riding in one vehicle and Quint, Miller and Roan with Muhammad following in the other, they navigate once deserted streets that have now random locals screaming "Death to America!"

"How far is the compound?"Gustus asks.

"One mile," Lincoln answers.

Lexa debates going on foot but the jeep gets stopped by a group of local men. At first they just stare at Lexa and the men before the  leader takes out a machine gun and starts firing at them and Lexa shouts, "Drive, dammit! Drive!"

***

They finally do pull the jeep at the side of the road, the jeep smoking and dying on them. Lexa curses. They get out and begin running through the streets, night vision goggles on their heads, semi-automatic guns aimed infront of them.

"Watch your six," she instructs them.

"Chief, twelve o'clock,"Lincoln informs her. 

She looks up, sees the smoke.

They hurry up the streets, following the thick of columns of smoke,slowing slightly as they see the gates.

They arrive at the compound shooting, the other vehicle coming up from behind. Lexa sees Muhammad.

"Stay in the car,"Lexa orders Muhammad.

Heart pounding, breath ragged, without another word, she rushes to the burning house, flames rising higher and higher as Gustus and the others cover her.

While Roan, Miller and Quint make a sweep at the back, Lexa, Gustus enter the house.

***

Their combat boots click on marble floors.

It takes them longer to locate the people.

Gustus and Lincoln find Bellamy sprawled on the floor, passed out, face all bloody and smudged with dust and grime and sweat. Lexa searches all the rooms before she finds Clarke passed out in one of the rooms,sprawled on the floor, hand still gripping the Glock 9mm. Without thinking, she kneels down and quickly administers CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, all the while muttering "C'mon, Clarke, come back. I need you alive, Clarke. Dammit, Clarke."

Clarke finally regains consciousness and Lexa breathes a sigh of relief.

"Lexa...?"Clarke asks.

"It's okay, you're safe,"Lexa says.

Clarke doesn't respond, she just kisses Lexa and holds her. "What took you so long?"

Lexa pulls back and smiles. "Traffic." 

Clarke smiles back. She leans her head on Lexa's chest as Lexa runs a hand on her back.

"Listen. We need to go now. This place isn't going to last much longer. Can you walk?"

Clarke nods.

"Let's go."

"Where's your father?"

Clarke shakes her head. "I don't...I don't know...we got separated...when we had to get out of the safe room...I don't know where he is..."

Lexa asks the same question when they emerge from the house. "Where's Ambo?"

Bellamy coughs, eyes bloodshot, looking dazed and shocked. "I don't know...he was right behind me..."

Lexa curses under her breath as she looks back at the burning house. She wipes the sweat off of her face.

Roan, Miller and Quint jog back to the front of the house.

"Coast clear, Chief, think they're regrouping,"Roan reports to Lexa. 

Lexa nods. "Alright, there's some ammo in the house. Surveillance needs to be destroyed, too. Lincoln, you're with me. Roan, take Miller, get some weapons. We need all the ammo we can get. Bellamy, get Nyko and the bodies in the back. Get that vest off Jones and give it to Ms. Griffin. Collins do another sweep out back." When Gustus makes to go with them, Lexa holds his arm. "No, stay with Ms. Griffin. We'll go look for Ambo."

Gustus and the others nod.

She looks at the Glock 9mm Clarke is holding. "You know how to use that?"

Clarke nods.

Lexa grins. "If they shoot, shoot back."

Clarke grins back,running a trembling hand on her hair.

Before they go, Clarke touches Lexa's arm. "Thank you, Lexa."

Lexa nods.

***

Lexa's lungs burn. Her throat is dry and parched. She needs water. The heat is unbearable. It feels like her skin is burning. With her vest and combat fatigues, it feels doubly hot. She sees the flames licking the curtains, doors, tables, chairs,carpet, any wooden surface it can find. 

"We better split up," Lexa tells Lincoln. "You take upstairs, I take the first floor, we meet back up the front door. As fast as you can, Lincoln. As fast as you can."

Lincoln nods.

Lexa has her machine gun gripped and aimed infront of her as she checks the living room, dining room, kitchen, bathrooms and the office and first floor bedroom. All the rooms are empty. She coughs, finding it difficult to breathe, heat pressing in. She wipes the sweat from her brow and jogs back to the front door, finding Lincoln already there, face as sooty and grimy and sweaty as hers. She looks at Lincoln. Lincoln shakes her head. She sees Clarke, now wearing the bulletproof vest, take a step forward, sees Roan and Miller emerge with weapons, the surveillance room ablaze, Collins jogging back to them. Lexa is about to speak when a single shot rings out. She feels her body jerk back, and she staggers back, sees the bullet wedge deep into her  vest. Hears Clarke shout her name. Another gunshot pierces the air and this time she feels pain on her right shoulder, but she quickly recovers, scans the yard, spots an extra vehicle, a jeep and shouts, "We need to get out now. Bellamy! Take Collins, Miller and Quint with you. Muhammad, go with them. Gustus, you and Clarke come with us." Everyone scrambles into the vehicles. 

Lincoln rushes to help her back as she points to the jeep parked in the driveway, indicates she get the key from Bellamy.

"Clarke...Ms.Griffin,"Lexa says, grimacing from the pain. "I'm sorry, we couldn't find your father..."

Clarke is shaking her head. "No...no...Lexa...."

"I'm sorry,"Lexa says softly.

Tears are welling up in Clarke's eyes.  Lexa feels a horrible constriction in her chest. Clarke brings a knuckle to her mouth.

"No..." Clarke closes her eyes. Tears roll down her cheeks.

"We need to go,"Lexa says softly.

"There must be a mistake,"Clarke murmurs. "Maybe you missed one of the rooms...it's a large house..."

"We checked every room,"Lexa explains gently. 

"Maybe he's trapped...in one of the rooms..."

Lexa looks at the flames, the thick smoke still rising up to the sky. "Clarke, there's no way..." She stops, unable to continue.  _ There's no way he could've survived.  There's no way he's still alive _ . The unspoken implication - Clarke's father is dead.

"Please don't do this,"Clarke begs.

"I'm sorry."

Lexa turns away to avoid seeing the pain and tears in Clarke's eyes, avoid seeing her crumble, avoid seeing how broken she now looks. Her loss is private and intimate and Lexa wants to leave her alone, leave her to grieve privately. Lexa closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, opens them and looks at everyone.

"Bellamy,"Lexa says as she sees him  take the wheel. "Left, okay? Turn left. Hard left. Don't turn right. Drive left, go straight, Quint and Miller will let you know where it is."

Bellamy nods. 

"Good luck."

***

Gunshots and machine gun fire and grenades follow Lexa's group as they drive back. Lexa grips the side of the vehicle as Gustus drives, Lincoln beside him on the passenger seat. Lexa sits at the back, machine gun in one hand, Clarke crouching beside her, occasionally shooting from her gun  until she hears a click and realizes she's out of bullets.

Lexa is facing the back window, shooting at men pursuing them, while half of Lincoln's body is out of the passenger door, shooting as well. 

"I'm out of ammo!" Lincoln shouts. Clarke wordlessly hands him a cartridge and he grabs it, loads the machine gun and starts firing again. The bodies of the gunmen jerk backwards and fall down as each one is shot down.  Only the driver and one lone gunman are left shooting at them.

"So am I!" Lexa responds. She looks down at Clarke, she shakes her head.

Lexa throw the gun down and reaches for the knife on one ankle, pulls it out and aims for the last shooter. The knife flies through the air and slams into the gunman's heart. He is dead before he hits the ground. Clarke stares at her.

"Who  _ are _ you?" Clarke asks.

"Someone who promised to keep you safe," Lexa says.

The gate to the Annex Division looms up, Gustus shouts, "We're here!" as the people behind the gate spot them and open the door.

The jeep comes into the driveway in a cloud of dust, just inches from Jaha standing and staring at them in disbelief.

Gustus,Lincoln, Lexa and Clarke get out.

"Sir," Lexa says, nodding. "Any word from anyone? CIA? Defense? We going to get some air support?"

Jaha shakes his head. "No. We're on our own."

"Keep trying. Update us as soon as word comes in. We need evac for civilians. We lost Dickson and Jones. Nyko’s hurt bad. And..." Here she looks at Jaha. “We’ve lost Ambassador Griffin.”

That shuts Jaha up. He closes his eyes. Imagines there will be hell to pay. 

As she speaks the other vehicle comes in and Bellamy staggers out, falls to the ground on his knees and throws up. Collins comes out as well, holding on to his side where he'd been shot. Everyone springs to action to help both of them.

"Nyko?" Lincoln asks.

"He isn't looking too good."

"Take Nyko and Collins inside," Lexa says. "Do we have a doctor here?"

Clarke steps up. "Yes. I can help."

"Okay."

Clarke touches Lexa's arm. "We need to have a look at that arm." 

Lexa looks down at her right arm.

"You've been shot."

"No time for that now,"Lexa says. "Lincoln, round up the civilians. Do a headcount. Move them over there," she instructs, pointing to the small building behind the main one. "I will talk to them shortly."

***

The talk consists of a briefing of events and how, under no circumstances is anyone allowed to leave without permission. Jaha takes over after and tries to have everyone contact available assets.

***

Lexa would barely remember that night.Barely remembers how they even survive.  She remembers the fear, the anxiety, the fight to stay awake, knowing that id they even close their eyes for one second, the people outside would come in.

They station themselves on the rooftops, Lexa giving them their positions. Roan and Miller facing the front gate, with Bellamy and a now hastily patched up Collins beside him guarding the back gate. Lincoln and Gustus are with her alternating between watching the front and back yard, rifles, machine guns and rocket launchers at the ready, bullets and cartridges at their side. The air is still thick with the tension and anxiety and fear, stench of death near, the night reeking of sweat and blood and heat. It feels like a lull before the storm, the town outside the quiet , as if everyone is collectively holding their breath.

She doesn't even realize when Clarke says, "We have to look at that wound, Lexa."

"What are you doing here?"

"You've been up all night,"Clarke says, "You need to eat and I have to look at that wound."

"It's just a flesh wound," Lexa says.

"I'm not just going to sit back and watch you bleed to death,"Clarke says.

"Death is not the end,Clarke,"Lexa says.

Clarke glares at her.

"Chief, you need to go,"Lincoln says. "We'll be fine for a few minutes."

***

Clarke and Lexa are alone in the room that has been turned into a makeshift infirmary. Lexa has stripped off her vest and shirt, sitting on the table in her fatigues, gun at the side. The bullet has grazed her shoulder.  She had already forgotten it was there. She hisses as the disinfectant touches her left shoulder, hearing Clarke's soft "sorry" as she dabs at the wound. Clarke quickly cleans the wound and dresses it. She gets her bloodied shirt back to put it back on. Clarke watches her put her vest on and smiles. 

"You're all set,"Clarke says.

"Thank you."

Clarke smiles. "You're welcome." She reaches out to touch Lexa's right arm. 

Lexa looks down, sees Clarke's fingers trace the tattoo there. Clarke looks up, a question in her blue eyes.

"I got my first after graduation on a dare from my classmates," she explains. 

"And this?"

Lexa swallows. "I got it after my first mission."

Clarke waits for her to elaborate further but she does not. Clarke nods, takes a deep breath.She touches Clarke's cheek then. "I'm really sorry about your father."

Clarke nods. Her blue eyes fill with tears again and she looks up, blinks, tries not to cry. She puts a trembling hand to her face. "It's okay...You did your best. I..." Her eyes, still red, are welling up with tears as she looks up at Lexa. "When this is all over, I'd like to retrieve my father's..." Her voice cracks. "Body." 

Lexa nods.

Clarke nods back. "My mom...my mom would like to..." Her voice cracks. She stops, puts on a brave smile.  "Thank you for coming for us. I'm...sure you'd have done the same if it were any other person."

Lexa nods. She remembers a time, in Afghanistan, when they were hunting the Taliban, when a misunderstanding and miscalculation had them mistakenly drop a bomb on a small, remote village of 100 people up north, near the borders. Those deaths had haunted her but in the grand scheme of the anti-terrorism war, collateral damage, a necessary means to an end. But that didn't mean she slept soundly at night knowing she'd been responsible for those deaths. That hadn't been the first time she'd started asking herself if she'd made the right choice. She doesn't know why she tells Clarke this now.

Clarke is confused. "You'd have let us burn?"

Lexa shakes her head once. "No. Yes. Maybe." She swallows. "There was a time when I would have. That's how we're trained. We have a chain of command. SOPs.  I know it sounds harsh but...that's how we survive."

Clarke nods, pauses, before she says, "Maybe life should be more than just about surviving..."

Lexa nods. "Maybe...There was a time when I would have...But...now..."Lexa says softly.

"You couldn't."

"I couldn't."

Clarke smiles. "Tin soldier's growing a heart," she gently teases. "You care for us."

"Not everyone." Lexa looks at her then, gaze steady and true. "Just you."

Clarke is surprised, taken aback by Lexa's admission. For a second she is speechless, searching Lexa's green eyes. "I should thank you."

"For what?"

"For going to all that trouble."

Lexa holds her gaze, earnest green eyes gazing into her blue ones. She knows the next thing she'll say will go against a lifetime's worth of training: Never let emotions get in the way of the mission. But she says it anyway, because something tells her something's about to change. Has already changed. And there's no going back from it. "I went to all that trouble just for you."

Clarke feels a lump form in her throat.  Feels her heart speed up, her breath catch. It's the way Lexa says it. The way she looks at her. Fire and tenderness in her green eyes amidst the exhaustion and pain. The way she says it, soft and tender. They look at each other, both slowly coming to an understanding.

She leans over to kiss Lexa on the cheek.  Lexa moves her head and kisses her on the lips instead. Clarke's hands come up to Lexa's neck then, Lexa's hands landing on Clarke's waist,  then the small of her back as she gently pulls Clarke closer.

Clarke reluctantly pulls back, her hands on Lexa's shoulders. She is about to say something when the first assault happens. The ground shakes and the tables and chairs shudder. Lexa stands up, grabs her gun, looks at Clarke, "Go." Lexa nods.

"And Lexa..."

Lexa turns and looks at her.

"Be careful."

"I'll see you later." 

The first of the assaults on the Annex Compound have begun.


	3. Chapter 3

Back at the academy, Lexa had realized she would never be taller, stronger or bigger than the other cadets. Women had been going to the academy a few years now, but the male cadets still saw the presence of women as anathema. They didn't have to say it, Lexa and the others could see it in the looks they got in class, on the field, at the mess hall, at every available opportunity. She could see it in their eyes: She would never be like them, she was never going to be Westpoint material, she was never going to be one of the guys.She didn't belong. And one day one of them did say out loud that she didn't belong at the academy, that the best she could do was give up and go home, and no one was ever going to think less of her for it. Except that just made her more determined to stay.

She didn't want to quit. Never wanted to be like her deadbeat father. Tall, handsome, charming, he'd dropped out of school and never amounted to anything. Her parents had married young. Her mother a nurse. She'd supported Lexa and her father for a long time and barely made ends meet. She could hear them argue all the time.  Her mother had left him once but for some strange reason she reunited with him again. She had loved him. Lexa didn't, _couldn't_ understand why. Could not understand why she would do anything and everything for him, until now. Lexa thinks she now understands.

She hadn't liked him. Loathed him with every fiber of her being.  When her parents finally divorced, it had broken her mother's heart but she slowly recovered.

Her mother had eventually gotten married again, this time to a quiet, stoic second generation Chinese American grocery store owner, a widower, who spoke little and worked hard. He had a daughter from a previous marriage, Anya, an older girl who was mean and moody and surly and didn't like Lexa one bit. 

She should have called them. Called her mom. Called Gene, her stepfather. Called Anya. She even wishes she'd called her father. Fuck. She hadn't been home in ages. More than a quarter of her life had gone by and she'd spent it either stationed overseas or Stateside and seldom visited her family. She should go home. Taste her mother's atrocious cooking. Taste the noodles and dumplings and steamed Chinese buns and roast duck her Chinese stepfather insisted she eat for Chinese New Year to Anya's amused smirk. She not only had to follow Western Christian holidays, she had to follow  Chinese ones, too. Those first few years all she could say were " _Xie-xie_ " and " _Ni-hao_ " and Anya had used that knowledge to speak in Mandarin to her father and insult her. She'd painstakingly learned the language so she could argue with Anya properly, in halting pidgin Mandarin to Anya. She'd learned her stepsister had always referred to her as the white girl, and her mother, "that white woman". Over the years, as their fights grew less frequent, Anya had realized they had more in common than they thought and they'd eventually struck up a tentative, fragile friendship when they realized their parents fully intended to stay together for a long time. Anya wouldn't admit it but she thinks maybe Anya had grown fond of Lexa, too. Lexa had spunk. Guts. She never backed down. When Gene, her stepfather had insisted Lexa take self-defense lessons with Anya, she had earned Anya's respect, getting back up each time she went down during a sparring session. 

Lexa thinks of them with fondness. Facing her mortality on foreign soil tended to do that with her.

She should have called her family. She regrets that she cannot do that now.

***

When she'd graduated from high school, her stepfather and mother didn't have enough for tuition money and she didn't want to spend the rest of her life paying off college loans and sacrificing her own fiscal stability in the process.

It was the idea, the fear that she'd end up like her deadbeat father that pushed her to get into Westpoint. She vowed she would never be like him. She vowed she'd never be a loser like him. She'd been driven to prove something, to herself, to the world, that whatever circumstances she may have come from, she would succeed. More than the grades and her physical fitness, they had accepted her at Westpoint because she had potential, she had the brains and the determination to make it.

So, for every push up a man made, she did a few more. For every pull up, she did a few more. She was the  first in and the last out, in class, on the field, in the training room. She'd taken self-defense lessons for as long as she could remember, found it useful when she got cornered by bullies. Anya, had helped her train. She'd gotten into trouble one time too many but one day she realized she wanted something more. Westpoint could give her an education and a job after graduation.

And she was good at it. Good at her job.

There'd been something every time she found herself in a situation like this. Up there, on the rooftop,  methodically picking off people shooting at them outside the wall, it feels exactly like all the other time she'd found herself in: on rooftops and windows and and fields and caves, in wind and rain and snow and slate, in countries such as this one, poor and always on the brink of collapse, where people like her were always resented and unwanted, always in the company of people like her - cynical and war-weary and dead-to-the-world, wanting something more, something different, searching for the answer to a wordless question.

She hears snippets of conversation: Roan betting Miller and Quint on how far they can shoot and how many.  In a normal world it would be frowned upon, but this isn't and never was a normal world for soldiers like Roan and Miller and Quint and the others. It’s way to cope. A way to mask the fear that this could be their last. Soldiers fear as much as civilians. They just conceal it more.

She looks at them and marvels at the camaraderie mortality creates. They've looked at the face of death and survived to fight another few hours. They've been on the brink of certain death and lived. There's a bond that's formed because of it.

***

At first it is just machine gun fire. In their night vision goggles, they can pick out the bodies with the guns aimed at them. They pick them out one by one, shoot them, see their bodies jerk and fall to the ground. They are relentless. They come in waves, ready to die for their cause.  It seems endless. It feels like forever.

At 04h00, she feels tired, exhausted, the tension about to make her collapse. Her eyes are threatening to close. The heat is still there, the gunsmoke filling the air. She's hungry and sleepy and in pain and her muscles ache.

But then Monty Green climbs up the rooftop then. Lexa, Lincoln and Bellamy all aim their guns at him as he shouts, "Don't shoot!"

"What do you want, Green?" Roan growls then.

"We got through to Tripoli,"Green says to whoops of joy from them. "They're coming."

Lexa looks at him. "How long?"

Green hesitates, afraid. "Um...They're rounding up people. They should be here by..." He swallows, "Seven."

Everyone stares at him in disbelief.

Fuck, Lexa thinks. 07h00. She thinks that's still a long way off. Out loud, she says, "Alright. You heard him. We've got to hold them off until then."

"If we even last that long,"Roan says.

"Roan, shut the fuck up,"Lincoln says.

"Just keeping it real, homeboy,"Roan says with a smirk.

***

Bellamy had still looked shocked and wide-eyed and dazed. Thrown up repeatedly. Eyes tearing up.  Hands, until now, still trembling.

She'd gone to him then and told him, "I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but it doesn't."

"Does it get better?"

Lexa shakes her head.

"How do you sleep?" Bellamy had asked.

"I haven't had a decent sleep in ages," Lexa had said.

"How do you live with it?"

Lexa shrugs. "I don't know. People find ways."

Lincoln leans over and grins. "Find something or _someone_ to live for." He winks at Lexa. "Am I right,L.T.?"

He proceeds to take out photos of his unborn child. "Trick is to never forget." He looks at Bellamy. "This isn't the rest of your life. It's not permanent. We do this right, we go home."

"How? We're outnumbered, outgunned..." Bellamy says.

"We do whatever it takes,"Lexa says determined.

Lincoln nods. "Whatever it takes."

Roan quips, "Personally, I'm so over all this Alamo shit." When Lexa and Lincoln look at him, Roan clears his throat, mutters, "Yeah, whatever it takes..."

"Whatever it takes,"Lexa repeats, as if the saying of it will make it come true.

***

Whatever it takes.

It's always been what she tells herself. It's always how she does things.

She'd remembered a time when she'd been in Afghanistan. The other men didn't take her seriously. She didn't have the killer eyes, they said. It had been a routine patrol when they'd gotten ambushed and she'd had to shoot a man, a boy, really, not even twelve, she thinks and she remembers that same look of shock and disbelief as if he couldn't believe he was going to die that day. When she'd gone back to base camp, everyone had looked at her and they knew. Killer eyes. She had that look of someone who'd killed someone and had been haunted by it.  Over the years she'd had to kill again and again, taking no pleasure in it. Years later, finding herself here, a seasoned soldier, it hadn't gotten any better.

Indra had suggested this assignment, check out the lay of the land. Now, in the middle of a siege at Annex, it feels like it's more of the same. She'd been at the point when she had been questioning her life choices, feeling everything to be so pointless. She'd felt aimless then.  

Until now.

She touches the wound Clarke had hastily sewn. Feels Clarke's phantom touch on her skin.

Somehow, meeting Clarke Griffin seems to have changed something in her. Stirred something in her.

Where before during missions she just descends into a place between rage and serenity, her hands sure, her concentration razor sharp, as she methodically kills people, with no thought or care in the world, now she feels a different purpose.

Now she feels like she wants all of it to end.

She just wants to see blue eyes and sun-kissed golden hair again. Wants to feel soft lips and fair skin and the  gentle touch of someone who finally understands.

***

Over the horizon the sky starts to lighten, turning an indigo blue splashed with pale pink and a hint of orange. The stars are beginning to fade. The wind picks up. She shivers. Her stomach growls. She rubs the sleep from her eyes. Flexes her hands, rotates her neck, tries to stretch. Her body feels heavy, her eyelids about to droop. There is still adrenaline coursing through her veins, the anxiety still there.

She wants to go and tell Clarke so many things. How Clarke has answered the wordless question Lexa had asked herself for so long. How she wants to hold her. Wants to see what Clarke can show her. A better way. A better world. A better _life_.

That's when she hears the loud, thunderous hissing, and in the blink of an eye, an explosion.

Then darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Later, when the dust clears, amidst  the debris and rubble created by the rocket, Lexa and the others pick themselves up to check the damage. There is a gaping hole on the rooftop and on the front side of the building, facing the gate. Her first thought is of Clarke, but they'd moved all civilians to the building in the middle. The outer building, the one facing the front yard had been hit by the rocket, the middle building unharmed. 

She looks around. 

She checks for Lincoln, Roan, Miller, Gustus, Quint, Bellamy and Collins.

Their bodies are lying around on the rooftop,motionless. She coughs, runs a trembling hand on her forehead as she watches the bodies.  _ Please, don't be dead _ , she thinks.  _ Please, don't be dead.  _ She goes to each one checking them.

In a few minutes, Roan coughs and slowly gets up.

"Fuck, I am so done with this shit,"he mutters as he picks himself. "Sign up with the fucking army, they said. See the fucking world they said." He coughs up blood, wipes the blood from his mouth, trembling fingers checking if he had been hit.  He'd just hit his lips on pavement when the rocket hit. He is bruised, but okay.

Lincoln stirs and groans, but he is okay as he slowly gets up. She sees Gustus and Bellamy pick themselves up as well. She spots Miller, rushes toward him. He isn't moving, he is motionless. She kneels and checks for a pulse. There is none. A few yards away is Quint, also motionless, eyes wide and blank, staring up at the sky, dead. And the boy, Collins, lying on his back, a gaping wound on his stomach, eyes dead, mouth open. She swallows thickly. 

Bellamy had slowly knelt beside Collins, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He slowly reaches out and closes Collins' eyes. Lexa can see Bellamy's body shake as he sobs over Collins' body. Great, wracking sobs that tear at his very being.

Lexa and Lincoln go to Bellamy as the others move to Miller and Quint, closing their eyes and wrapping their bodies with cloth. The reality, the very real possibility of death hangs in the air now and Lexa doesn't need to see the others to know that there is, deep down, fear and terror at dying in a strange land, in the company of strangers.

"I didn't want him to come,"Bellamy says, between sobs. "He insisted. If he'd stayed at Tripoli..."

"He made his choice,"Lexa says, calmly. "We need to move. We can mourn our dead later.  Lincoln, check the civilians."

"On it, Chief,"Lincoln says.

"And then there were five,"Roan says, coming up to Lexa. "Not sure how long we still going to last, Chief. We're running out of ammo. What's the plan?"

"Same plan as the last hour,"Lexa says. "Hold the forth til help arrives."

"Or until we die,"Roan says grimly.

Lexa doesn't say anything.

"This is suicide, Chief,"Roan comments. 

"I know," Lexa says softly. "I'm sorry. I got you into this. I never meant for this happen."

Roan snorts. "I'm a grown ass man. I chose this. You didn't get me to do anything." He puts a hand up as if to put it on Lexa's shoulder, stops, realizes what he's about to do, nods instead, clears his throat, suddenly feels awkward, so he excuses himself and tells her he needs to man their positions.

***

The gunfire still continues and with every ounce of their strength, they fight and shoot back.

At 0500h, as the sun begins to rise, they spot an armored tank and an army jeep with a rocket launcher on its roof slowly rolling down the road towards them.

"Fuck,"Roan curses. He turns to Lexa. "We've got incoming chief. Two o'clock."

"I see it,"Lexa acknowledges, adjusting the binoculars to see better.

"Friendlies?"

Lexa shakes her head. "Hard to tell. Let's hope friendlies... Do not shoot until we know for sure."

They brace themselves as the tank and the jeep slow down. They grip their guns, sure it's their last.

"Soldiers, it's been an honor," Gustus offers his only statement of the night.

"Ditto,"Roan says.

"Nowhere I'd rather be,"Lincoln replies. 

"Same here,"Bellamy says.

"Give them hell, people,"Lexa says now. 

"Hell yeah!" Roan shouts.

"Give them hell,"Lexa murmurs.

"God help us all,"Lincoln says. 

***

They watch the tank and jeep roll down the street and stop in front of the gate. They watch as the tank opens and someone in a helmet and uniform emerges at about the same time another uniformed soldier appears from one side of the beach.

"Are they friendlies?"Lincoln asks, anxious. "Hard to tell from these distances."

"Well, they ain't shooting at us so that's something,"Roan observes.

"They're raising their hands above their heads, Chief,"Lincoln reports. He turns to Lexa. "Are they surrendering?"

One of them starts to speak in Arabic. Roan starts to talk but Lexa says, "Quiet!" 

Lexa listens as other soldiers file out of the tank and the jeep, armed with guns. His voice, guttural, harsh, echoes in the early morning silence. She listens, shifts, holds her gun tighter. 

Finally, when the man finishes, she lowers her gun. 

"Chief?"Lincoln asks.

Lexa doesn't look at him but she says, "They're here to help. They're government soldiers." She looks at them, shouts down in Arabic.

The soldier seems taken aback, looks up at Gustus and addresses him instead. Lexa replies, face expressionless, voice controlled but her eyes look slightly angry.

"Is he trying to talk to me?" Gustus asks.

"He thinks you're the Commander,"Lexa replies. She responds to the man in Arabic. The man is surprised. "He isn't happy I'm in charge, but he'll have to deal with it. Open the gates."

Lincoln nods as he jogs to the ladder, slides down, goes to the gate and has it opened. The government soldiers enter as their tank and jeeps are driven into the compound. 

"Stay here,"Lexa orders Gustus and Roan. "If they make any sudden suspicious moves, shoot."

"Copy that,"Roan says. As she walks to the edge of the roof, Roan shouts, "And Chief!"

She turns, looks at Roan. 

Roan gives her a grim smile. "Watch your six."

She nods.

When she slides down the ladder, semi-automatic slung across her shoulder, hops down and walks towards them, the soldiers shift uncomfortably, and are unable to look at her. She calls for Muhammad, someone shouts his name and in a few minutes he is running towards them, face confused and questioning. She notices how the soldiers relax when they see Muhammad.

"Yes, ma'am, you are calling me?"Muhammad says.

"Yes, I need you to translate for me,"Lexa says.

Muhammad is more confused. "But you are speaking Arabic, no?"

"Yes, but something tells me it might be easier if you were here,"Lexa says. "I need you to translate exactly what I say. Exactly, okay, Muhammad?"

Muhammad nods solemnly. 

"Okay."

***

It takes a while but finally they are able to figure things out: A militant, extremist group had decided to attack the American embassy and the Annex compound. It had been a surprise attack to commemorate 9/11. The local government has no knowledge of the attacks and disavows the group, condemning the attacks as not only an attack on America but an attack on the country itself. The local government extends its apologies and sympathy for the attacks and the loss of the Americans and hopes the US government will not retaliate. The local government is willing to extend any and all assistance and is willing to cooperate to end the siege and ensure the remaining American citizens leave unscathed. The soldier assures Lexa the masterminds of the attack will be hunted down and punished harshly and swiftly. An airstrip has been cleared and the soldiers will escort them to evacuation and safety.

"Are they for real, Chief?" Lincoln asks doubtfully.

Lexa regards the soldier, saying nothing. The soldier shifts again, unsure and awkward.

Muhammad speaks up. "When we are speaking to women it is hard."

"I can see that, Muhammad,"Lexa acknowledges.

"You are not understanding,"Muhammad says. "We are speaking to you and it is hard. But we are. And so it is meaning that we are being sorry about what happens. They are...for real."

Lexa regards the soldier for a few more seconds before she nods and says, "Alright. Only one way to find out. Muhammad, tell them to split in half, half  will join Gustus and the others up on the roof, the rest will stay here. Guard the gates."

Lincoln comes up and murmurs to Lexa,"Chief, if they betray us and start shooting at us..."

"If we leave them alone down here they'd think we don't trust them. I should think they'll think that's an insult not only on them personally but on their government as well,"Lexa explains. "This way we avert an international diplomatic crisis." She looks at Lincoln then, half a smile on her face. "Think of it this way - you're now holding one of the most important positions in the Western world."

"What is that?" Lincoln asks, scrunching up his nose in distaste.

"Diplomat."

Lincoln makes a disgusted noise.

Lexa smiles. "Stay close to the locals. Don't let them out of your sight. Pair them up with Gustus and Roan. They make any sudden moves, shoot without prejudice."

Lincoln nods. "Copy that."

Lincoln gets Muhammad and starts to have him translate Lexa's instructions.

The soldiers grudgingly comply.

It is then that the shooting resumes and Muhammad gets hit on the shoulder.

***

Muhammad is groaning and moaning in pain as Lincoln carries him inside the makeshift infirmary, Clarke meeting them halfway. 

"Lexa?"Clarke asks casually, trying to calm herself. "The others? Are they okay?" She asks as an afterthought.

"They're fine,"Lincoln says, distractedly, "Gonna take more than a few bullets to get Heda down. I've gotta go."

Lincoln leaves without further ado, leaving Clarke to her thoughts.

***

The shooting continues as the day brightens and heats up. Lexa is feeling a headache, feeling dizzy, but she needs to stay awake before help comes. She begins to sweat from  the heat, the sweat mingling with the dust and gunpowder.

In the distance, she sees two more armored vehicles come up and shouts, both in English and Arabic, "Hold your fire!" The last of the gunfire stops and she watches as the smoke clears: The people inside the armored vehicle are shooting at the militants.

"Friendlies?"Roan asks.

"We'll see,"Lexa says, peering into the binoculars.

When the vehicles stop in front of the gates and she sees cropped blond hair, army fatigues and semi-automatic, the others whoop for joy and she breathes a sigh of relief.

Help had finally come.


	5. Chapter 5

pEpilogue

Later, when the dust and confusion have cleared, and numerous fingerpointings have ceased, the US Military blaming the CIA and the NSA and Homeland and vice versa over botched intelligence that missed a planned attack on American personnel on Arab soil, there would be threats of Congressional and Senatorial hearings, military tribunals, suspensions and terminations. They will look for a scapegoat. Someone to blame. Someone to hang out to dry. Lexa stands in the middle of it all, calm and stoic, career and reputation on the line,  maintaining she did the right thing amidst the loud protests of Thelonius Jaha and other officials. It doesn't help that she'd had one last argument with Jaha before they evacuate. 

As the civilians are herded into vehicles that will drive them to the airstrip, Jaha stands still, unmoving, by the bombed out front of the building. When Lexa spots him, she comes over and asks, "What are you doing?"

Jaha looks shocked, dazed, as if he cannot believe this happened on his watch. "I need to stay. Someone has to stay to gather intel, to make sure everything is sorted...I need to make reports..."

"No," Lexa says then, firm and strong, her voice betraying her anger. "You are fucking done here, sir."

"But..."

"You are _done,"_   Lexa repeats. "We are not losing anymore people. You fucking get on that plane or we make you get on that plane."

Roan, standing behind her, smirks. "I don't know about you sir, but I'd do what she says. You don't want to fucking argue with a sleep-deprived soldier, sir." He looks him squarely in the eye. "Get on the fucking plane. _Sir._ "

Jaha looks at Lexa with such anger she knows Jaha will make sure she will pay for it.

***

She anticipates this as she, Gustus, Lincoln, Bellamy and Roan help evacuate the American personnel along with the bodies of the dead, Miller, Collins, Jones, Quint and the rest to the airstrip, out of the city and into Tripoli.

The shock of their lives come in the form of one of the local soldiers revealing that they had made a last sweep of the Ambassador's compound and had found the Ambassador, dead behind the house. They don't want to think about how he might have suffered. How he died alone. Or what they could have done to save him. Whether one last sweep could have saved him.

The look on Clarke's face is indescribable as they show the body to her, how she turns to Lexa, Lexa awkward and stiff at first before she loosely holds Clarke with one arm, other arm still holding her gun. She runs her hand on Clarke's back, saying nothing as Clarke's body is wracked with heartwrenching sobs. Lexa wills her vision not to blur, her heart breaking for Clarke as she cries. Lexa has no words. She doesn't know what she could possibly say to bring comfort to Clarke. They stand there for perhaps a half hour, Clarke's body convulsing with tears.

***

It's not that Lexa Woodward is a terrible speaker or a terrible listener. She sometimes just doesn't know what to say. She was just a typical nerd, brilliant at combat and weapons and intel and languages. She'd started out as a kid who'd been left out for being different, spent her adolescence buried in books as Gene married her mother and moved in with Anya in tow while other kids honed their social skills. And then she'd been accepted at Westpoint and she discovered she could be good at something other than books. And the years had slipped by and here she is, almost thirty and unable to find the right words to comfort this woman.

Clarke finally manages to pull herself together enough to try to call her mother but the phone lines are busy.

***

She manages to bring Clarke to the airstrip and they see the army plane looming before them on the deserted tarmac.

As they step off the vehicle, Clarke still looks lost, eyes puffy and red, bloodshot. She'd cried so much it seemed like there was nothing left but her eyes would tear up again and silent tears roll down her cheeks again. She takes a deep breath.

"What are you going to do now?"Lexa asks softly.

"I have no idea,"Clarke says. "Talk to my mom. I haven't talked to her in ages. Sort out arrangements for my father..." Here Clarke stops, her voice cracks, a lump in her throat stopping her from speaking, the reality of it all, the burden seeming to overwhelm her. "I keep thinking this is a bad dream and I'd wake up and he'd suddenly get up and..." She stops.

Lexa doesn't say anything. Waits for Clarke to continue but when none is forthcoming, she asks, "What do you want to do?"

"Nothing," Clarke says. "I can't...I can't think past today. I just...want to go home."

"When this is all over..."Lexa begins, pauses then continues, "You should come with me to HQ. It will change what you think about us."

Clarke looks at her then and gives her a small, sad smile. "You already have."

The pilot comes out and informs them they are ready to go. Clarke inhales and says, "Are you coming with us?"

Lexa slowly shakes her head. "No. We need to make sure everything is  okay before we go."

Clarke nods. "Okay. I hope I can see you again."

"I hope so."

"Some day."

"Some day," Lexa agrees with a nod.

She sees fresh tears in Clarke's eyes and tries not to cry herself. They'd been through so much the past twelve hours Lexa hadn't had the time or energy to grieve for those they lost, those they left behind. She'd have wanted to cry, too. But now is not the time. She had to be strong. For them. For Clarke. With her index finger, she gently lifts Clarke's chin. She wants to say so many things, about loss and strength and grief and pain and how there had to be a reason for all this, that Clarke's father is in a better place, that she needs to move on - but the words die in her throat. She doesn't believe in any of them. Hasn't lost a parent. Even a sister. Cannot begin to fathom losing any of them.

A surge of affection grows through her for her own family. Feels immediately guilty when Clarke just lost her father and Lexa's own family is still alive. But she looks at Clarke and realizes, though she's known Clarke for less than twenty four hours that she's strong and wise and wonderful and she will get over this. Overcome it. That words no longer need to be said. She looks at Clarke's beautiful, sad blue eyes and it is then she realizes she could fall in love with Clarke Griffin.

And with realization comes another: that perhaps this will be the last they'll see of each other. That maybe they'll never see each other again. This realization saddens Lexa.

Clarke is about to say something else again, but the plane engines sputter to life, whirr and roar. She holds Lexa's gaze for a full minute before she nods and smiles and turns to head to the plane. Before she enters, she turns around and waves at Lexa. Lexa nods, watches as she disappears into the plane.

She slowly jogs to where Roan, Bellamy, Gustus and Lincoln are leaning on the battered jeep.

She joins them, leaning on the hood. Everyone watches as the plane taxis and takes off, no one saying anything.

"What do we get for this Alamo-levels of heroism?"Roan asks as the plane climbs up and flies away.

Nobody responds at first before Lexa says, "We get to go home, gentlemen. We get to go home."

Roan considers this for a moment before he nods and says, "Fair enough."

As they wait for their plane ride, Lexa would call her family for the first time in ages. She takes a few steps away from the others and they discreetly ignore what she is doing as they try to call back home, too. Her father answers, registers awkward surprise at hearing her voice, then something like warmth and tenderness when he realizes it is her. "Hey, dork!" she hears a voice in the background, likely her stepsister, Anya, home for a visit. Then the phone is passed to her mother and as she hears her mother's voice, the relief and concern evident, Lexa feels like actually breaking down. 

"Hey, mom," she says, trying to make sure her voice doesn't crack. 

"Lexa, honey, hi," her mother says softly. Her voice is soft and far away, distant, millions of miles, oceans away. Lexa suddenly realizes she misses her. 

"I'm sorry I called, I don't know what time it is over there," Lexa says then, and she hears her mother protest, saying it was no trouble at all. She could hear her stepsister say something in the background and her mother shushing her. Her mother asks her where she is and when she says her location, her mother's sharp intake of breath tells Lexa all she needs to know. Her mother is worried. Lexa takes a deep breath and says, "In about a few minutes or hours or days, you might see something on the news...? Something's happened here. We were attacked..." Here she hears her mother say, "Oh, my god, are you okay?" to which she quickly says, "I'm okay, mom...I...there was a moment where I thought I wouldn't be able to make it but...I'm okay...but we lost some people, mom. We lost  a few. I just needed you to know, to hear it from me first before you see it on the news and...so you and Gene don't worry. About me."

They talk some more, and she finds herself saying she's missed her mother, Gene, even Anya and her mother registers surprise, before she softly says, "We've missed you, too. I've missed you." Then silence, before her mother carefully asks, "Will you be home for Thanksgiving?" And Lexa, as if something has just dawned on her, says, with clarity in her voice, "Yes, mom. I'll be home for Thanksgiving." Her mother sighs, happy and tells her she will see her soon when she gets back.

Once the call is done, Lexa glances at her watch. 09h00. Twelve hours since the siege. It feels like forever. She is exhausted and hungry but she stands tall and alert, along with the others, face scanning the airstrip, never betraying any emotion. Later, when she arrives home, she will cry in the shower, for all that's happened, for all that they've lost, for the men that had died, for the ambassador, for Clarke, for every damn person she's ever lost while on field, but today, standing there on the airstrip, she will remain strong for her team. 

***

There are protests and calls for resignation. There are op-eds and damning indictments and criticisms.  Pictures of the ambassador, smiling and shaking hands with dignitaries. There are pictures of his daughter. There are interviews with the ambassador's wife, Abigail Griffin, the Deputy Secretary of Education. From the way she looks, always on the verge of crying, but always composed and elegant, long hair perfectly coiffed, tailored suit pressed and crisp, Lexa realizes she had loved her husband. Loved him deeply. It stabs at Lexa. The guilt. She sees clips of the funeral. Sees clips of the US president, foreign presidents, anti-counterterrorism and anti-war activists condemning the attacks. In the end, as they untangle what had happened, it is revealed that it is a perplexing, confusing array of protocols, authorizations and fucked up communication channels, as well as chains of command, wrapped up in typical red tape, bureaucracy and government ineptitude that cost the ambassador and the others their lives that fateful night in Benghazi. During the debriefing, threat of losing her job and all that she has built threatening to crumble before her eyes, Lexa stands stoic. She understands that it is just one of those screw-ups that couldn't have been avoided. She understands Jaha's hands were tied, that he had been doing what was best for his people. Her superior, Col. Indra Smith, had been able to wrangle support, the American soldiers that rescued them that day, but that almost cost her her job as well and a stern reprimand from her own supervisor. So Lexa says what needed to be said: Jaha was just doing his job. And so was she. For this, Jaha is awarded by the CIA for his bravery. Lincoln had privately called it bullshit, but she doesn't need to make an enemy of Jaha. She doesn't expect him to be an ally anytime soon. But she wants him off her back should she find herself working with him in the future. An unlikely but real possibility as government counter-terrorism efforts are consolidated.

There is mention of others who have died, conveniently dismissed as civilians.  Lexa looks at the news with longing, wanting to see Clarke. She dreams of her. Dreams of ocean eyes and blonde hair. She dreams and dreams and wishes it could come true.

***

Gustus, Roan and Lincoln are awarded in a private ceremony. Quint and Miller are awarded posthumously. They all  resign from their positions with the military contractor right after they receive their awards. Bellamy is awarded in a private, government ceremony. He doesn't keep in touch with them but Lincoln says he is doing okay.

Gustus and Roan work in security somewhere else. Roan is currently dating some underwear model his mother disapproves of, according to Lincoln. Lincoln works in real estate. Lexa smirks at this when they meet up at a bar for a round of drinks or when she comes for a visit to their house. He drives an old Ford pick-up truck and drives around selling real estate to rich couples or newlyweds. Sometimes he gets lucky. Sometimes he doesn't. But his wife, Octavia, who'd just given birth to their son, is happy. Whenever she sees Lexa there always seems to be a grateful look in her eyes, and once she does thank Lexa for bringing her Lincoln home. A lump forms in Lexa's throat then. She is wracked with guilt. Because she had been able to get Lincoln and the others out. But not all of them. By this time, she'd already gotten to know the profiles of those they lost. She tries to remember them. Never forgets they had to give up their lives so she and the others could survive.

Once, out on the porch, drinking beers and watching the sunset behind the trees, feet propped up as they celebrate the Fourth of July, Lincoln takes a swig and after a few minutes, he clears his throat and says, "You did what you could, Chief."

Lexa takes a swig of her own beer. Swallows. Says nothing.

"There was nothing you could have done, Chief," he continues. "More people would have died if you hadn't made the call."

Lexa says anything.

"You've gotta stop punishing yourself over this, Chief,"Lincoln says. "It ain't healthy."

And he's right, of course. She'd been punishing herself. Blaming herself. She hadn't done enough. Didn't save enough. Failed. At night she wakes up to dreams of the faces of the dead, Quint and Miller and Collins and Clarke's father and Clarke, always Clarke, accusing her, blaming her, condemning her. She'd gone to the shrink but there's nothing the shrink says she doesn't already know about herself.

They sit in comfortable silence again.Lincoln speaks up.

"You know even if we'd made it half an hour earlier or Jaha allowed us to go at precisely the moment the attacks happened, or air support or whatever else we needed came just  in time...you know it might not have changed a thing, right?" Lexa looks at him, then at the sunset. "Nyko. Dickson. Jones. Collins. Quint. Miller. The ambassador...They would have died anyway."

Lexa drinks from her bottle, swallows. Considers the question. She had a way of considering questions, as if looking for the truth behind them. "You don't know that."

"Yeah, maybe I don't, Chief, but what's done is done, they're gone and you have to move on," Lincoln says. "Maybe whatever we would have done wouldn't have mattered. Maybe they would have died anyway. Not in that particular time. But maybe in a month. A year. Ten. A decade. Maybe time is immutable. Maybe it was just...destiny."

Lexa shakes her head. "Since when did you get all philosophical on me?"

Lincoln laughs. "We can't change what's happened. But maybe we can change the future." He falls silent. "Called her yet?"Lincoln finally asks.

"Who?"

Lincoln snorts as he takes a swig of his beer and he ends up coughing. Lexa side eyes him, rolls her eyes, thumps his back.

"You know,"Lincoln says in between coughing fits. "Blond hair, blue eyes, about this high. Wouldn't give other guys time of day? Only has eyes for you?"

Lexa looks at him, surprised.

Lincoln grins. "Fuck Don't Ask Don't Tell, is what I say."

Lexa smiles.

"You know as well as I do you can pull up her files in two seconds flat," Lincoln says with a smirk.

"And commit at least a million felonies and break federal statutes,"Lexa points out.

Lincoln smiles. "You and your morals."

***

She'd wanted to. Call Clarke. Ask her to dinner. Perhaps a movie.

But in each clip or interview she sees her, Clarke looks detached, eyes glazed, completely out of it. In some clips she looks like she is rallying, the dutiful daughter standing beside her mother, the deputy secretary, as she issues a statement, clearly trying to focus before her eyes would look moist again. And she realizes Lexa would probably be the last thing on her mind. Maybe she isn't ready.

Once she did get the nerve to call her. But a man answers the phone and it confuses her. When Clarke comes to the phone, sleepy and irritated, Lexa hangs up.

***

A few years pass. Lexa continues to serve in the military. Don't Ask Don't Tell is finally repealed. Lexa's role on the siege reviewed, her refusal to carry out orders, possible insubordination, reviewed. At first she is relegated to desk job duties, directing orders from behind a screen, but eventually enough time passes that authorities think she can be trusted to go on missions and assignments. She is offered a job at the CIA but she refuses. She is offered other jobs, and she considers.

After much discussion and back and forth, Lexa is awarded the medal of honor in a more public, televised ceremony at the White House. She is surprised when she attends the ceremony: The President, Vice President, members of Congress and the Senate and the Cabinet and their spouses are present. She recognizes the former Deputy Secretary for Education now Secretary of Education Abigail Griffin and feels her heart beat fast. Hope springs in her chest. She thinks maybe she will see Clarke but she scans the crowd and does not see her. If someone were to ask her what happened during the ceremony she wouldn't be able to answer - all she could think of is Clarke. She could not remember the speech itself, or the president putting the medal on her neck, its weight heavy and cool against her chest, or the applause and congratulations that followed. All she could think of is Clarke.

When she finally gets out of the ceremony, after all the congratulations, all the compliments, all the handshaking, all the saluting, from the President down to the cabinet secretaries and military officials, all she can think of is finding Clarke.

She finally gets away from everyone, including Col. Indra Smith and her own family, her mother and stepfather, proud and happy for her, her stepsister, Anya. She stands in the hallway, unsure, looking both ways, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. There is no one. When her family finally joins her and they make their way to the parking lot, she hopes against hope that she can see her. But the parking lot is empty but for them.

But then she spots someone a few yards away.

Years later, they will argue about who saw who first at that fateful parking lot. Lexa will say she saw Clarke first. Clarke will say she saw Lexa first. At the ceremony. Being handed a medal for what she did to save them. She'd convinced her mother to have her invited and had left once the ceremony ended, knowing she wouldn't be able to talk to her seeing as she is surrounded by officials - from the American President to the Vice President to Armed Forces officials, including her own mentor and superior, Col. Indra Smith, and her family. Clarke will say she looked beautiful in her dress uniform, tall and proud and straight and brave, green eyes staring straight ahead as she listened to the President extol her virtues, recount her bravery on the field. Clarke will feel proud when the medal is finally handed to her, feels her heart soar, sing with what she will later realize is love and tenderness for this woman who'd risked her life to rescue her, but she will not say it then, would only later realize it during one too many lazy Sunday mornings in bed after a long morning of lazy, slow lovemaking, Lexa filling her up inside, filling her senses, solid and permanent and strong, when she traces scars and tattoos on Lexa's skin and Lexa finally tells her what each one means before she asks if they can talk about something else and Clarke grins and replies, "We don't have to talk at all."

***

Lexa had called her.

The minute she heard about the award. Not to tell her the news. Nothing so prosaic or arrogant as that. Exactly the opposite.

It had been a long winter. A long cold winter with an ache in her bones, a dull pain in old scars. The ceremony is in the spring. What she realizes as she thanks Col. Indra Smith for the news is the realization that spring is about to come. It would be time to smell the roses again. Never too late to smell them.

A job offer had come through: Her military expertise, intel knowledge, counter-terrorism efforts, had been considered and they had wanted her to join. Decent hours. Pay grade not bad. She could stay in one place. Close to home. Maybe even see Clarke.

She stares at the phone and can't remember anymore as vividly as she can, the incidents that happened at Benghazi the night of the siege. Oh she remembers those they lost: Collins, Nyko, Miller, Quint, Dickson, Jones and Griffin. But mostly she remembers it as a blur, a series of memories. Just one in a long line of missions she'd done. The one vivid thing she remembers is moments with Clarke. Clarke's face. Blue eyes. Blonde hair.

She thinks back and realizes there are other moments she remembers, first kisses and intimate encounters, the day she met Col. Indra, Lincoln, her mother's wedding to Gene,  breaking a rib during a game of soccer...

But...

But those sharp moments are few and far between.

What had happened? What peak experienced, what exquisite sorrows, what giddy heights have happened lately?

Until she met Clarke she hadn't realized something was missing. Since she's met her, everything seems to have come into sharp focus, everything has an edge, a definition, a form, a clarity.

More than a decade serving with the military, fighting in one war and on to the next, accepting assignments and missions. She'd saved lives. Helped stop wars. Terrorists. Dictators.

And yet -

And yet she'd never allowed herself to make plans. She'd worked and gotten promoted and rewarded...and a medal of honor is prestigious, no doubt, but it seems...empty now somehow. Meaningless.

She'd wanted to be the best. Wanted to be anything other than her father.

And so -

And so - she worked hard. Hadn't gotten married, hadn't had children. Hadn't had a proper relationship. It feels worse somehow.

She still hadn't read _War and Peace._ Or the _Bible_. She hadn't read a novel in almost a decade.

She hadn't traveled for leisure.

Hadn't learned to cook something other than anything that's instant and can be cooked in three minutes or less.

She hadn't mastered Mandarin.

Lincoln claims the future may be immutable. But she had free will, right? She could be happy? She could _choose_ to be happy.

She had a future to make. But how to make it?

She'd asked Clarke once what she wanted. Lexa realizes with growing clarity she wants Clarke. Wants a future with her.

From now on she would _live_.

What to do first?

 _Clarke_.

She wanted to phone Clarke. It's been years. She knows she's in the U.S., in Washington for the time being, where her mother, the Secretary of Education is.

She could try giving her a call.

The phone call takes ages to go through before it goes to voicemail much to Lexa's disappointment.

But she starts by introducing herself, standing stiff and formal,  before she says, clearing her throat, "I've...been thinking about you..." Pausing, hesitating before saying she'll be in town in the spring and that she hopes Clarke could meet her or give her a call before she hangs up.

Clarke never returns the call.

***

Clarke had waited outside. She'd received the voicemail. Surprised all these years how Lexa's voice could seize her heart, leave it pounding, leave her breathless, aching for her touch and kisses.

She hadn't expected to hear from her again. Had fully believed she might not see her again, when they were standing at the airstrip, Clarke's plane waiting to take off. They had been through so much. When she hears how it had been Lexa who had insisted they go and rescue Clarke and the rest, her heart swells with tenderness and pride. No one had ever done something like that for her. That she knows Lexa, without a doubt, would've done it whether Clarke had been there or not makes her admire her more. She'd never met anyone like Lexa. Never met anyone so firm in her convictions, someone who actually believed in something this strongly.

She thinks she wouldn't have made if it hadn't been for Lexa.

She'd wanted to call Lexa then. Wanted to thank her. They'd parted with so many questions unanswered, so much unresolved. She hadn't been ready then. The loss, the grief, everything had conspired to keep her away from Lexa. She thinks she could be ready now.

Until she'd gotten that voicemail she didn't even think there'd be any hope at all.

***

She had hoped she could get Lexa alone. Had been disappointed she could not get Lexa alone. Had watched Lexa talk to people she assumes are her family, wonder about the middle-aged Chinese man and the tall, blonde young woman with the high cheekbones standing to one side as they talk to Lexa. And then she realizes they are about to leave, and so she takes a deep breath and steps out and hopes Lexa can see her.

And Lexa does.

Lexa sees her.

They both gaze at each other the space and distance between them. Neither one remembers who crosses the distance first but they both know that by the time they do they are holding each other, and Lexa is lifting her up, and burying her face in her hair and neck as Clarke clings to her and for a moment the world doesn't exist, fades away, and only the two of them exist, just laughing and holding each other and breathing sighs of relief and Clarke would say, "I thought I'd never see you again," and Lexa only smiles and says, "You thought wrong." Lexa murmurs then, "What took you so long?" And Clarke sheepishly says, "Traffic" and they hold each other even more.

Later they will get the curious looks and prying questions from Lexa's mother and stepfather, and the smirking, knowing look from Lexa's stepsister, Anya, as Lexa invites her to join them for dinner but Lexa doesn't care and Clarke definitely doesn't care and long after Lexa's family has gone and it is just Lexa and Clarke all alone in Lexa's room and they finally, finally tell each other what they have always wanted to say but couldn't, in gentle touches and long, slow, deep kisses, whispered words and soft moans, naked skin to naked skin and deep in each other, they will revel in each other's presence, and then finally, finally realize that they are home. That they are finally home.

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to kick_angel for beta-ing this. Thanks to everyone else for reading. Like this fic? Want more? Let me know in the comments. Cheers!


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